


Drive

by marxeism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Bus Driver!Cas, Castiel is human, Dean is a drop out, Death, Homeless shelter volunteer Cas, Hospital Scenes, I'm Sorry Castiel, I'm honestly so sorry for this, Like, M/M, Mentally unstable Dean, Mercy Killing, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Cas, Sam is bullied, Sam is in high school, Serial Killer!Dean, Shooting, Sick Alfie, Stabbing, almost anything imaginable used as a weapon, forced murder, forced violent acts, honestly, mentioned child abuse, referenced stalking, so is everybody else, some deaths and arcs may follow the show, super unhealthy relationship, that's not good dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5174804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marxeism/pseuds/marxeism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll be completely honest, I've been looking for you whenever I ride the bus."<br/>"Do you ride often?"<br/>"I do now."</p><p>Mysterious murders have been occurring in the greater Windholm area, a city that, while not known for peace, is not extremely well known for its serial killers either. Castiel, a minimum-wage employee of Windholm public transport, does not have the time or money to be careful when his friends are in trouble. Perhaps Castiel's strange passenger, Dean Winchester, can help alleviate some of his problems. </p><p>Or, the one where Castiel is a bus driver and homeless shelter volunteer and Dean Winchester is a serial killer with a new found obsession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Passenger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tardisssin221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tardisssin221B/gifts).



> There will be warnings before every chapter, so please be cautious and tell me if you have any triggers you need me to point out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art is by one of my best friends, and the person who this story is gifted too. She's insanely talented and I love her so much

This area of the city was rather dismal. Buildings hardly stood upright, crumbling due to the multiple infestations they must have endured through their long lives.

Bundles covered by heavy fabric lay unmoving near walls, unidentifiable as either bodies or sleeping unfortunates. Shattered glass reflected sharp white light, incoming from the nearly full moon. Cigarette butts littered the streets, punctuated by the occasional odd object -bullet shells, papers, plastic bags. There had not been a nicer night all week.

Because the ghettos would always be in as terrible a state as its citizens, but at least tonight the moon lit the night and the rain had finally stopped. All week it had been raining. Castiel liked to think that this symbolized something. A clear night meant new opportunities for his friends and himself, the rain meant that their problems had all been washed away. If only.

Only an hour ago, Alfie had called him. The young man’s voice had been weak and shaking. He had called from a hospital room. A job flipping burgers at McDonald’s was not nearly enough to pay the bill.

So, twenty-four hours after he had finished paying Hael’s more… questionable expenses, Castiel was, once again, picking up extra shifts with the city’s public transportation.

There was only so much money he could make for his friends. Busses would not begin running until 5:30am, and only stopped at 1:30. Besides, Castiel was always at the homeless shelter for at least nine hours a day. After paying for his own food and rent, eleven hours of minimum wage work only added up to so much.

For Hael, for Alfie, and for his brothers and sisters, he was here; driving a beaten bus at 1:00am in the worst part of town. If Castiel thought about it the right way (in terms of lives he was saving instead of the hours of sleep he was missing out on), the bus driver did not mind too much. And besides, he got to meet so many interesting people.

Or, maybe meet was not the right word. He had seen teenagers in costume, high school debate teams, artists carrying their paintings, and athletes with backpacks and baseball bats. All of them had better things to do than to talk to Castiel. And, past midnight, Castiel did not have the screaming urge to talk to the two people on his bus either.

The boy in the back looked alone. Earbuds snaked their way underneath a dark blue hoodie while his jeans were more ripped than any decent pair should be. His left hand rested on a small backpack besides him and his dark eyes never left the window. The woman near the middle had mid-length brown hair and pasty skin, as if she had never seen a day of sunlight. She constantly yawned, and her green nametag was still pinned to her bust. Her eyes were closed. She was sleeping.

These rides were usually faster, with little traffic and few passengers waiting at stops. Castiel would have to wake her up when he finished the loop.

The light was green, but Castiel stopped at the corner and opened the door. The boy looked up. The woman did not. A man stood dark, erect, waiting. His journey up the steps was not slow, but he moved with purpose. His dirty blond hair was cropped and combed to the front, and he looked abnormally good in plaid and jeans. The man’s cheekbones and square jaw made in difficult not to stare.

Castiel looked away once the man had run his fare card, only watching the front mirror to see where the man decided to take his seat (in the very front so that it was almost torturous for Castiel to keep from turning his head).

In the next few minutes, Castiel managed to leave the neighborhood, and the woman’s phone rang, some reminder telling her it was almost time to get off, he assumed, because she soon called for a stop and was gone.

An amazing excuse to look towards his newest passenger’s seat while the woman thanked him, Castiel observed the man. Attractive even when frowning; now that was not fair in the slightest. The man glared at the street signs through the window, sitting as straight and stoic as a line. Castiel forced his eyes back to the road and released the brake pedal.

A quick glance at his dashboard clock confirmed that it was 1:27am when Castiel finished his route. He left the bus parked in the garage, watching the boy gather his backpack and leave. The new man did not move.

“Friend,” Castiel began when the man in the red plaid remained, frown marring his face, staring out the window, “This is the end of the route. You have to get off,” Did he have somewhere to go? He had to be on the bus for a reason, with a destination. Had he been in financial trouble, he would not have spent the money on his fare card.

“This was the wrong bus.” The man shook his head, narrowing his eyes as he viewed the garage. “Are we close to Vlonling?”

“It’s across town…” Castiel shook his head. “You should have taken East, not West. Did you not see the route on the front?” The bus driver nodded towards the electronic, ever-changing letter above the front window, stating the route number and last stop.

“I was in a hurry.” The man said simply, looking at his watch as if trying to prove a point. “You know when the next bus leaves for East?” The man looked around, there were no new vehicles arriving in the garage. To Castiel, it seemed obvious that public transport had finished for the night.

“Busses don’t start again for another four hours.” Castiel answered. “You should rent a hotel room. The city isn’t safe this time of night.”

“Can’t. My little brother’s at home. I need to be back before he realizes I’m gone.”

Castiel shook his head. There was nothing the man could do. But here he was, asking for help, obviously worried for his younger brother. How could Castiel say no?

“Look, I live in Mando. If you need help, maybe I could give you a ride?” Mando was relatively close to Vlonling. It was no more than a fifteen minute drive from the furthest part of the district to Castiel’s own neighborhood and would not pose too much of a problem.

The man worried at his bottom lip for a moment before nodding. Castiel obviously wasn’t the only one hesitant about riding with a perfect stranger.

“Sure. Thanks.” The man said.

Castiel turned around to make his way up the elevator and towards his own vehicle. The man followed a couple of feet behind him.

“I am Castiel,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder, “If you’re going to be riding in my car, i thought you should know.”

“Dean,” came the gruff reply. It was followed by no last name.

Castiel shrugged. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.”

“You too,” Dean said, as they arrived at the beaten, white Yugo. He gestured towards the car. “I didn’t think they made these anymore.”

“They don’t. I got it secondhand, but it’s more affordable than any car on the market these days,” Castiel answered, opening the door and seating himself in front of the wheel. He thought he heard Dean muttering something about a “tin can on wheels” while the man seated himself.

Castiel didn’t mind. He had bought his car for cost efficiency, not impression. He shifted the manual gear into drive and pressed a foot to the pedal, pulling out of the driveway with ease. It was nice when there were no cars on the road.

Usually, Castiel would have listened to the news to pass the time. However, he was more concerned now with treating his guest well than knowing everything that was going on in the small world he called his own.

“So, your brother;” Castiel started, “how old is he?”

Dean, sprawled out comfortably in the passenger’s seat, glared at Castiel suspiciously from the corner of his eye. “He’s fifteen. Why?”

“I was wondering,” Castiel’s answered. “I’ve never really had any siblings. It must be nice.” This was small talk and they both knew it. Neither would do anything to make the conversation deeper.

“It is. His name is Sam. And if anybody -anybody” --Castiel risked a glance from the road to see Dean glaring at him-- “even thinks about touching my little brother, I will personally see that every inch of his skin is flayed from his body piece by piece.”

 

 

The car fell into silence, the threat not lost on Castiel. The driver rolled down his window crank. The weather was unusually nice, and he intended to take full advantage of that while he could.

“You should become a writer.” Castiel wondered if there had ever been a more stupid way to end a long silence. Dean raised an eyebrow, “It’s just- you used really detailed wording there. Maybe you could become a public speaker, though. You’re good at stressing words. You seem passionate.”

Dean turned in his seat, simply staring incredulously at Castiel. Then he chuckled. And even though it was not a complete laugh, Dean had not so much as smirked before. So, Castiel could not help the half-smile that stretched across his own face.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dean said, still grinning. “Make a left up here. Look for building 1443.”

Castiel followed instructions as he was given them. Although the building addresses were dimly lit, he could only just make out Dean’s building by squinting.

He stopped the car in front of it, and Dean opened the door. He pulled something out from his back pocket before leaving. A wallet.

“Thanks for the ride, Cas. I’ll see you around sometime.” With that, the man passed a twenty dollar bill towards the driver’s seat. Castiel did not take it.

“Thank you, Dean, but I don’t need your money. This was a favor, I was not selling you a ride.” Castiel shook his head. Dean did not retract the arm.

“Call it gas money then. I don’t care. It’s just my way of saying thank you. And don’t forget that you’re a bus driver. Let’s not pretend that you couldn’t use some extra cash.”

“I don’t need any-” Before Castiel could finish, Dean had rolled his eyes, dropped the money, and left, slamming the door behind him.


	2. Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel talks to Alfie. 
> 
> This is, I admit, a boring chapter. Skim if you like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for hospitals, mention of stabbing, mention of murder, and referenced child abuse in a government run home.

It took Castiel a full twelve hours to forget about his odd passenger the night before.

In that time, he had gone to work (remembered Dean in his passenger seat), visited the shelter (a couple of new kids had come in, and their protective nature reminded Castiel of the night before), bought himself lunch (with the twenty dollars he had never asked for), visited Alfie in the hospital, and then forgot about everything else.

Because Alfie was not well.

The younger boy had been resting when Castiel entered the room, eyes closed, rise and fall of his chest even and slow. He seemed to be in a much better shape than last night, when he had been gasping over the phone.

Castiel sat himself in the one cushioned chair of the room. Alfie did not acknowledge his presence.  
It was not unusual for a person living in a large city to be mugged. Fights were spontaneous, violence was, for some, unavoidable. Not with Alfie. Nobody had anything to gain from a scrawny teenager in a McDonald’s uniform. It must have been something else.

Alfie sported a cut over the bridge of his nose, and stitches over one of his eyes. The other was purple and swollen, and his bottom lip had split in the middle. Castiel pointedly looked at only his makeshift brother’s face. Even if the boy was covered in a wool blanket, Castiel would not be able to stop imagining the series of events that had led up to Alfie’s stabbing.

The boy’s eyelids parted, revealing slivers of dark blue.He focused on the paneled ceiling for a few moments, blinking slowly, before he turned his head towards the windows. Midday sunlight filtered through the glass panels, reflecting brightly off of the white walls and waxed floors. Alfie glared at the sun, sighed, and then turned away, eyes landing on his visitor for the first time.

“Castiel,” Alfie acknowledged, and Castiel nodded in return. The boy’s voice was stronger than it had been last night. He found a control on the side of his bed and held down a button. In time with a mechanical whir, the top half of the mattress raised Alfie’s torso into a sitting position. “How are you?”

“Better than you, it would seem,” Castiel retorted, because here Alfie was, sitting in a hospital bed, and asking about somebody’s well-being rather than his own.

“So it would seem,” Alfie agreed solemnly, and raised his hands to gesture towards his body and the wires hooked up to it, “I’m alright though. They’re moving me to long term today, just until I’m able to function properly by myself again.”

Castiel nodded, looking around the room for any document or receipt that could help him estimate the price. If Alfie was going to stay in the hospital for more than a day (with the therapy, drugs, and equipment Castiel was sure he would need) the cost would build high.

“When they give me options, I always take whatever is the cheapest,” Alfie said. His gaze never left Castiel’s face, “I’m working very hard to heal, Castiel. And the moment I’m released I will go directly back to work.” Alfie worried too much. He would never heal with all the stress.

“Just don’t push yourself too hard. You know that I can pay for this and whatever else you need. I don’t want you to come back here again for something we can avoid.” Alfie nodded and smiled, close-lipped, tight.

“Thank you, Castiel. I won’t.”

“You’ve been through too much to let something this small take you.”

A knife in the gut was not particularly small, but neither of them mentioned that.

  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That day, Castiel skipped his visit to the shelter. Nine more hours of work, even on minimum wage, had the power to keep Castiel’s brother out of debt. Alfie’s life had been difficult enough already, and the added stress of the economy could not possibly help.

Castiel liked to think of himself as Alfie’s protector. They had been young together, during Alfie’s first experiences in the system. It was a boy’s home, a complete dump. It belonged to the state, and was never funded enough for the kids that lived there. At least five boys per room, the place was overcrowded, and, managed by anybody who would work for little, it was employed mostly by criminals. Alfie had been one of the last arrivals, dropped off, sobbing and pleading, by his mother.

Crying in the home was not allowed, but Castiel had been at class that day, and the warden had found Alfie first. It was luck that had the boy assigned to Castiel’s room. With nothing more than a couple of school supplies and a pair of stolen sneakers, the five boys of room B had shut down their home. It had been Castiel’s proudest moment, but he had made mistakes -big ones- and he had nearly given up on himself, along with everybody else. Alfie was the single person who always believed, and Castiel decided early on that he would always give Alfie something to believe in.

He refused to give up on his brother now.

Castiel worked himself into an exhausted emptiness that night on the bus. The system was calming. Open the door, close the door, hit the buttons, turn up the radio, watch the traffic light, drive.

There were no odd customers that night.

  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
11:30 pm public radio news report:

_“-So, you may want to stock up on food and water, and prepare for electrical outages throughout the city. This weekend, you should also prepare for heavy rain, wind, and possible flooding that may come along with Hurricane Gracie. We may not be getting the brunt of the storm here, but it can’t hurt to be prepared._

_Now, in a suspected continuation of the gruesome warehouse murders from these past few days, forty-three year old Don Harding was found beheaded three miles from his home and workplace in Windholm County. It is thought that he was murdered about a day ago, and, although there are signs of a struggle between Harding and his killer, security footage has been erased and Harding’s fingernails appear to have been cleaned. This is the third in a series of murders with no apparent connection between the victims, besides the conditions surrounding their deaths. More on this story as it progresses._

_Stay tuned for a brand new episode of Animal tales, in which we’ll be analyzing two poodles and talking about the mating processes of Betta Fish. This will be followed by a brief list of tips for the upcoming storm.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Castiel is too exhausted to realize he's on a date and we see Sam


	3. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Sam, there are a couple of interesting customers (to appear again in the future), and Castiel is too tired to realize he's going on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are your warnings: Mentions of a badly injured character, mentions of and references to drug use, brief mention of a fight, and creeper Dean.
> 
> If you haven't figured it out already, I always depreciate my work before I post it. So, I'll admit that this could have used some more editing. If anybody wants to contact me about it, be my guest :) Also, it would be really cool if somebody could explain to me how formatting works here.

By the next week, Castiel had worked for longer than one hundred hours, operating solely on four hours of sleep and a gallon of coffee. Although he had barely seen his friends in days, life moved on around Castiel. Alfie was recovering. Something inside of him had been damaged, and eating alone had been hard work, not nearly as painful as regular movement. Castiel could not say he understood medicine, but it did not take a genius to know that Alfie was bad. Much longer and the boy would be spending his seventeenth birthday in the hospital.

The doctors had an estimate. Alfie had shared the numbers over the phone. It would take quite a few more hundred hour weeks to pay the bill.

The stop was in front of Pullman High School. Castiel could not stop thinking about where his friend was supposed to be.

“Hey Cas, what’s up?” Castiel frowned. The man walking up the stairs had bright green eyes and an open comfortable smile led a younger boy in front of him. The man definitely recognized Castiel. Although there was a familiarity there, Castiel felt slow. Nothing clicked in his quiet state. There was a question. Castiel looked up. The bus’s roof blocked his view from anything else.

“The void, most likely. If we’re going all the way up. I’m not sure what the bus is made out of. Mostly metal, i think. Maybe steel.” Dean raised an eyebrow, expression suggestion sardonic unamusement. Castiel did not understand the joke. He drove.

They were behind him, speaking to each other in quiet tones. Castiel only paid attention to the road until the man -Dean? The name Dean seemed to fit him- patted him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man, you high or something?” Dean asked, brows knit in something that looked like concern. High? Castiel looked towards the ceiling again. “High? Stoned? Doped?” Castiel blinked and frowned. None of the words seemed to make sense, but there must have been some double meaning.

“Castiel, are you on drugs?” Oh. Well caffeine was considered a drug, wasn’t it? By some people? Dean was probably referring to controlled substances though.  
“No. I don’t like drugs.”

“Good. You shouldn’t.” Dean smiled again, tighter this time, more forced. “So what’s wrong with you?”

Too much. “I just need a break.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Castiel could not watch closely when Dean was behind him, but it sounded like the man was talking to the younger boy again. The next time he heard the man’s voice, Dean was directly in his ear.

“How about you join Sammy and me? We’re just hitting town, seeing what we have here. We could use a native’s opinion.”

“I’m not a native.”

“Well, you’ve probably been here longer than us.” Castiel decided not to reply. Five years was the longest he had ever been in one place, so Dean was probably right.

“So is that a yes or a no?” Right. It would be rude not to answer.

“I have work until one in the morning. I’m sorry Dean, but I can’t go out.” Dean nodded in the rearview mirror, not appearing disappointed in the least while he turned to talk with Sam again.

It seemed that Dean wanted to continue their previous conversation.

“We’ve only been here for a couple of weeks actually. We move around a lot for our dad’s work.” The boys exchanged a glance. “Hopefully this place can be more stable. I don’t plan to make Sam relocate again until he’s in college. What about you?”

This conversation had started somewhere, but Castiel could not figure out what the question referred to. He tried to retrace Dean’s previous words. There had been something about school.

“Oh, well I haven’t been able to attend college unfortunately, but I still do fine.” Castiel smiled. He had never had the time or money for a greater education. Dean shook his head.

“Nah, Cas, you told me you’re not from here so what’s your story?”

“Oh, well I was in the system for a while. This was just where I happened to be when they dropped me off. Rooms are cheap downtown, so I stayed. Lived there since.” Castiel shrugged and made his stop. He turned in his seat. Dean and Sam were already standing, collecting their things. Dean did not carry much, but his younger brother pulled on a large gray backpack. It looked like the younger boy was coming from school. Castiel checked the time. Noon. That was odd.

“Take it easy, Cas. I’ll see you then.” Castiel did not ask when as Dean walked away, followed by the younger boy who smiled and waved in Castiel’s direction before departing. The two were gone in a matter of moments, conversing as they turned a corner into the city.

Castiel shook his head greeting the newest passengers. Already, the bus seemed far more quiet.

Better for thinking but lonely as well.

It took Castiel three repeats on the same route to discover the Dean had probably taken his younger brother out of school early. Truman High students filed into the bus, chatting and laughing with each other. Even if Sam attended another nearby school, it would have been odd for the boy to get out so early.

He could not seem to remember if Sam’s face had been blemished by bruises, or if that was something he had come up with just randomly. The girls behind him were practically screeching about some “freshie fight”.

Castiel shook his head. It was never polite to dig into somebody else’s life. It was part of his job to respect the privacy of his customers. It was not as if he would be able to piece together this puzzle without another cup of coffee, anyways.

* * *

“Oh, what a world we live in, huh?” Castiel did not care to look at the time. It was obvious that he was far behind schedule. It was dark, the road was completely silent, besides the odd wandering late-nighter. There were two people in the back of Castiel’s bus- a teenager wearing completely leather, and a woman in a pantsuit.

The woman looked past her thirties, with short blonde hair. She was complaining loudly to the teen, another girl with dark braided hair, pale skin, and red rimmed eyes, who nodded slowly along with the woman’s words, appearing completely spaced out.

“I mean, what type of people would watch me throw my heart up on stage and choose somebody else?” The woman ranted, slamming her fist into her open palm,

“Those bastards wouldn’t know talent, even if it bit them in the ass.”

The girl nodded, glassy eyes fixated on the street lights outside the bus window.

“Do you know how long I’ve worked for this? Do you have any idea how much effort I put in? More than those other bitches, I can tell you that! And still!” The woman released a loud exclamation of her aggravation. Her hands flew up and her eyes and mouth widened. “I have to go back. I have to. Maybe next time. Y-You know?” The woman stopped and the girl pushed a button to request her stop.

“Here,” The girl spoke for the first time, voice low and gravelly, as she pulled a small plastic bag from one of her multiple pockets, “You really need to calm down, lady. Relax. This’ll help.” She passed the item, and, although the woman hesitated for a second, gaping, she accepted.

“Thanks,” The woman answered.

“No biggie,” Castiel stopped the bus on a corner, as the girl continued, “This is me. Feel better, yeah?” Without waiting for an answer, the girl exited, leaving the rest of Castiel’s drive to silence.

It seemed to take an eternity for Castiel to reach the garage. A check on the bus’s convenient dashboard clock confirmed the he would be checking out an entire half hour late. Castiel huffed as he stood, leaving the safety and familiarity of his bus for the garage. The place was devoid of life. Castiel stamped out and locked up with his head bowed, alone in his exhaustion.

He stumbled from one garage to another, raising his eyes only to locate his car before he focused on his shaky walking again. It took all of Castiel’s attention to simply put one foot in front of the other. He reached his car with his hand already on the keys. He slid the key into its slit, but was interrupted before he could turn the lock.

“You’re late.” The voice was unexpected, echoing around the large concrete room. Castiel did not flinch. His movements would have been better described as a full, literal jump. Castiel flung his key from the car door, stumbled backwards, and tripped over a parking block. He sat on his sore bottom, frantically searching for the source of the noise for a few long seconds, before finding the sense that standing might make it easier to defend himself.

Castiel pushed himself up, scrambling to get his feet underneath his body. When he was somewhat stable, Castiel dashed to his car, staying low for the safety of shelter. Ducking behind his vehicle, the man surveyed the area for signs of human movement and, upon seeing none, raised himself to his full height.

Dean was leaning on the hood of the Yugo, smirking right at Castiel.

For a second, Castiel could not breath.

“You’re late,” Dean repeated, “I’ve been waiting here for nearly an hour, almost thought you weren’t coming.”

Castiel stared.

“You going to say anything or just sit there staring at my beautiful face?” Dean smirk widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. Castiel’s breath hitched in his throat, coming through shaky and unnatural. He could feel his heart hammering on his ribcage, and one hand went to support his chest.

“I-I…” _No threat,_ Castiel had to remind himself, _Dean poses no threat. He’s just a normal guy, he’s not going to hurt you_. But there were questions. Castiel tried to get the words in his mind to his mouth. “What are you…. Why are you here, Dean? It’s past one, what are you doing here? You… You should know how to get home now.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head, “I don’t need to be home right now. You didn’t say no and you gave me a time. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t show up?” Dean’s smile split into a full grin, and he offered a hand, “I caught your keys.” Castiel checked his pockets before accepting the small ring of metal items.

“I didn’t know you were coming. I… umm… I don’t really remember what I said yes to either.” Castiel opened his car door to shed his uniform sweater and pick out his trench coat, pulling it over his arms.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean shrugged, wiping a hand through the air as if erasing the issue, “Come on, I’m taking you for coffee.”

Castiel fished in his pocket for the keys again, although Dean was chuckling lowly. Before Castiel could open the car door, Dean’s hand, warm and calloused, had closed around his wrist.

“There’s no way I’m taking you out in that rust bucket,” Dean scoffed, pulling Castiel away from the car. “I’ll drive. We can come back here for the car afterwards.”

Castiel nodded, allowing Dean to pull him over curbs and stairs. He glanced back at his own lonely car only once, wondering if it could actually be a good idea to do anything besides go home and sleep. In Castiel’s state of exhaustion however, the external physical push outweighed the mental struggle, and Castiel left himself to Dean’s mercy.

Castiel was practically sleepwalking when Dean stopped, releasing Castiel’s wrist. Castiel hardly ran into the other man’s back at all, although he was still grateful for the muscular arm that caught him. Dean smiled, opened the passenger’s door for Castiel, waited half a second for said man to sit down, then shut it. A moment later, Dean was sitting next to him and the car was on.

Castiel closed his eyes, sighing softly as the car lurched into movement. It seemed like an old vehicle, although it was in wonderful shape. The radio was on and an familiar but unrecognizable classic rock song was on the radio. Dean was drumming along to the music on the steering wheel.

Castiel, sitting in a practical stranger’s car, watching the colored lights through his closed eyelids, could not have felt more tired, or more relaxed.

The car stopped, and Castiel opened his eyes. Dean was already holding the car door, grinning at Castiel as he offered a hand.

“Thought you were gonna fall asleep on me, Cas,” Dean said, patting Castiel’s back, “We’re just getting started. It would make me feel like you’re bored with me.” Dean grinned at the thought, carefree appearance diverting all actual emotion from his words. His face was perfect. Castiel suddenly wanted to touch it.

“I’m-I’m not tired…” Castiel muttered, although his defiant body did whatever it could to contradict his words, coming up with a strong yawn for Castiel to battle. He lost.

One of Dean’s perfect eyebrows raised, “Yeah, sure,” Dean rolled his eyes “Just so you know, though, I’m not going to carry you to the top level of an apartment complex without an elevator.” That elevator had been broken for months. Castiel just smiled.

They walked into the coffee shop together. There was no line, and a tall red-headed man stood behind the counter. Dean ordered for himself first, allowing Castiel to order a small mocha drink behind him.

The drinks were made soon, and the booth in the corner was comfortable. Dean and Castiel settled down together, Castiel laying his head on the other man’s shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of every breath.

“You weren’t this quiet the first day,” Dean observed, running a gentle hand through Castiel’s hair. It felt nice. Castiel turned his face into Dean’s neck, extracting a low chuckle. The man smelled like Earth and warmth, “How much do they have you working anyways?”

Dean’s shoulder jutted up as he brought his drink to his mouth. Castiel shrugged. “I don’t know. Eighteen hours a day? Maybe?” Dean was peering at him from the corner of his eye.

Dean shook his head, “That’s not healthy, Cas. You need to rest more, you’ll get yourself sick.” Castiel smiled, hardly believing that somebody could be worrying after his health, “What do you need to work so hard for?”

“A friend,” Castiel sighed, smiling at the thought of Alfie, “He’s just a kid. He can’t pay for his own hospital bills.”

“Chivalry’s still kicking then. That’s good, Cas. You’re a good person.” Castiel smiled. Dean’s arm was around him. His eyelids felt heavy.

Castiel closed his his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: How does Dean know so much about Castiel? And why is he covered in blood?


	4. Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is covered in blood, insanity arises, and Castiel's hope for a normal life flies out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> triggers: blood, insanity, mentions of death and killing, super unhealthy relationships, threats
> 
> Art is by my friend Dori, the person this is dedicated to.

“I was pretty sure you wouldn’t even have to sleep,” Dean’s voice echoed as if through a glass panel only inches away from Castiel’s ear. The words were heavy and hollow, filling every crevice in Castiel’s very being.

His eyes blinked open and closed again, trying and failing to focus on the stairs traveling below his feet. His sneakers continuously caught on the edges of steps, squeaking loudly and repeatedly forcing Castiel to stumble. The only thing keeping him from landing face-first on the cold stone structures was a warm, tight arm around his waist. Castiel allowed his loose neck to swing to the side, resting his head on the bouncing shoulder besides him. Presumably, it belonged to the same body as that arm.

“I guess it’s your vessel or something, huh? You even have control over that body yet?” Castiel closed his eyes again, focusing only on the warm, rough voice that reminded him of a movie character that had seen a little bit too much but still managed to hang onto their soul. Even stringing together seemingly random words, it sounded like a lullaby to Castiel. Maybe Dean had a voice that could be sound calming saying anything.

Castiel smiled and allowed himself to drift off again, dreams at the corner of his consciousness just beginning to personify into bright green eyes and a beautiful smile.

He fell forward, and jolted awake, caught at the last moment by a cursing, mumbling man fumbling with the lock on Castiel’s apartment door. Cas chuckled.

“S’weird,” He mumbled, managing to find enough strength to nod towards the doorknob, “Y’need to pull the key out halfway and just… wiggle it a bunch.” Castiel began laughing at his own words, only to cut himself off with a heavy yawn. Instead, he settled on beaming proudly as Dean finally got through, pulling Castiel with him into the grimy apartment.

“I don’t usually use the door,” Dean grunted, hoisting Castiel into a bridal carry. Much stronger than he looked, Dean carried Castiel into the bedroom, laying the man on the bed and pulling the blankets over him.

Castiel was asleep before Dean left the room.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

He woke up with no memory of his return to the apartment.

Bright morning sunlight filtered through the dirty windows and grey curtains, but still managed to hit Castiel’s freshly opened and not yet adjusted eyes full strength. He winced and sat up, his back to the only window in his small bedroom.

Castiel yawned, trying to think about the events of the previous night. He had gone to a coffee shop with Dean. That he retained memories of, but he did not remember drinking anything, nor did he remember coming home.

Castiel had fallen asleep.

He had forgotten to set his alarm clock.

He jumped to his feet, found himself fully dressed already, and sped from the room, grabbing his cell phone from his pocket to check the time. No charge. He threw it back at the bed, letting it bounce lightly on the spring mattress before settling, half propped up, on messy blankets.

His intended sigh turned into a huff, sped up like everything else in Castiel’s terrible morning. He didn’t even have time for a breakfast or shower if he wanted to keep his job. Castiel flung open his bedroom door, stepped out, and found himself suddenly on the ground, face planted into a musky throw rug and knees bent over a soft, warm body.

He shook his head, making a mental note to clean his floor when he got back home.

Then, Castiel froze. There was unmistakably a body lying on his apartment floor. He risked a slow, shaky glance behind himself to confirm that, yes, the body was alive and that, yes, it belonged to a person he knew.

Not somebody that he knew well, but a young boy who had taken his bus once the day before. Sam, Dean’s younger brother, was laid over a binder of math problems, with one hand gripping a pencil and his head turned towards Castiel, who was still sprawled out on the floor.

“Morning!” Sam greeted brightly, his smile a direct contrast from the bruises littering his face. Castiel tried to wrap his head around how Dean’s younger brother was in his apartment.

“Hi,” Castiel raised a hand briefly in way of greeting, then looked back down the hallway. There was a memory of Dean sitting in Castiel’s second hand car making threats over Sam. Castiel quickly stood up and took a step back, “Where is your brother?”

Sam frowned. “He’s buying groceries. He should be back any minute.” The boy annunciated every word, as if he were thinking a little bit too much about his word choice and his answer, “He called your boss for you, you’re taking a break today.”

Dean had called Castiel in sick. That raised more problems than it solved. Castiel needed money more than he needed a break, and he could hardly help but wonder how Dean had gotten his manager’s phone number.

 

“Did he tell you anything?” Sam asked, once Castiel had stumbled into his living room to shed the trench coat, “I mean, anything about us?” Sam’s questions sounded hesitant, with a good few moment passing between his sentences.

“No, I think I fell asleep…” It was probably something about humans being social creatures. Sam’s hesitance and caution in speaking made Castiel a bit self conscious as well. He put care into making sure his voice was even and low and unthreatening.

But Sam laughed and Castiel wondered if maybe everything was fine after all. “Yeah,” Sam grinned, “Dean told me all about that. Don’t worry much about it, he isn’t one for dating usually anyways. He doesn’t have high expectations,” And that was an ‘oh shit’ moment if Castiel ever had one.

“Dating…?” He repeated, sure that he had heard incorrectly, ready to beg for clarification. He had been on a date once as a teenager. He could not have possibly gone out with Dean without even being aware of the fact, “That’s not what that was,” He stated when Sam was silent. “Was it?”

Sam looked like he was choking, trying not to laugh. His face turned red and his breath came in gasps and Castiel sank into the couch cushions, bowing his head. “You- You didn’t know?” Sam finally managed.

Castiel looked up again to shake his head. It had been the most embarrassing night of Castiel’s life, apparently, and he had been sleeping instead of apologizing for it.

“Okay,” Sam’s voice grew steadier as the laughter faded, “Well are you single?” Castiel nodded. This was a mess. His eyes strayed to the window, where grey stormclouds hung in the distance.

“You gay?” Another nod.

“Right, well you, Castiel, are one lucky man. You’re single, you’re queer, and you’ve got one of the hottest, most eligible bachelors in Windholm County sitting under your thumb. Maybe, it’s time for you to make your move. Live a little,” Sam shrugged, Castiel closed his eyes.

He was not ready for a relationship. He did not have the time, or the money, or the priorities for a relationship. Not when Alfie was in the hospital approaching thousands of dollars in medicine. He shook his head.

Eyes still closed, he said the only thing he could think to. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Tell your brother I’m sorry. But I just can’t.” He opened his eyes to Sam nodding solemnly.

“Why not?”

“There’s just too much. I can’t prioritize any individual person-”

“Except for Alfie.” Sam supplied and Castiel sighed.

“Alfie needs me to help him. He’s different.” Castiel probably would have asked how Sam knew about Alfie, but was cut off by his creaky front door opening.

“Morning boys!” An unforgettable voice -raw and shielded yet supporting a cheerful tint- called into the room. It was quickly followed by a dirty blond head and a solid body. Castiel wondered if dating this man could really be such a bad idea.

“Just back from grocery shopping. You’ve got your bagel, I’ve got my burger, we’re all set,” A foil wrapped projectile hit his chest, and he just managed to catch it before it hit the ground. The package was still warm. Castiel started for the fridge, but was stopped by Dean’s arm.

“It already has cream cheese and lox,” Dean rolled his eyes, “I know what you like, Cas.” The poorer man took the words as they were, and sat at the table, unwrapping the warm breakfast. Dean plopped himself in the middle of the couch, springs squeaking from impact.

The freshman raised an eyebrow over his hardbacked book, only glaring at his older brother until Dean rolled his eyes and relinquished another plastic container. Sam took it with a grin, twisting it open to reveal mixed greens with cheese cubes and strips of chicken. He pulled out a number of smaller containers full of salad dressings, frowning at them as if trying to make a decision.

Although he felt a bit alienated by the small distance, Castiel remained at the table, watching his friends eat from behind the old couch. The faded red fabric was already stained from years of mistreatment and use. This piece of furniture had seen history, Castiel knew. It might not have been an antique, but it had its time. But then again, he supposed, so has everyone.

“You feeling okay, Sammy?” Dean asked the question, through a mouth full of ground beef and soft bread, “You’ve still got a nice sunset there,” The older boy grinned, although missed some of its usual enthusiasm.

Sam scoffed lightly, turning away to the grimy window before returning his brother’s gaze, “We’ve both been through worse, Dean. Let’s not make a big deal out of a couple high school assholes, okay?” Castiel looked down, trying not to pay much visual attention to the brothers, although he listened intently.

The springs squeaked protest. “We’re not going to take this lightly. It’s time you realize how completely idiotic you’re being. You know how to fight back, and you let them use you as a personal punching bag whenever they’re in the mood. I’m tired of patching up injuries that you didn’t need to have in the first place,” By the end of his small rant, Dean was almost growling, his voice had become so low and angry. Castiel took a bite of his bagel, trying not to give away his engrossment.

“You never do this when we’re fighting!” The boy sounded like he was arguing with an unfair family rule, annoyance and desire in his voice.

“When we’re hunting, we can actually do something about them. The kids are mostly human, we can’t just take ‘em out and be done,”

“Oh, so you’re not upset that I’m being hit, you’re upset that you can’t just kill a bunch of teenagers,” The statement was so cold from a child, defensively angry at his older brother. Castiel could relate; the boy just wanted to live his own life.

There was no answer from Dean. The only sounds were traffic outside the window and the old couple’s muffled arguing upstairs.

It seemed the boys had finished their argument. Castiel finally looked up, towards the disaster scene. Neither boy was looking at the other anymore, they were both staring at Castiel, awaiting a reaction.

Dean was standing, back facing the window, and body turned towards Castiel. Of course, it was now that he noticed Dean’s crisp, white shirt was stained with red. He crossed his fingers under the table, silently wishing that Dean was just a wealthy butcher.

“Castiel,” He sounded surprisingly calm, considering the previous conversation, “Let’s talk,” Sam cursed under his breath, while Dean simply smiled.

“We both know what you are, but i don’t think you know us,” They were walking towards Castiel’s table, slowly, and the Jaws theme started playing in his head.

It was an irrational fear, he knew that, but as the potential threat creeped closer, he could not seem to manage his emotions. Dean would not hurt him. Dean hadn’t hurt him yet, and he had had every opportunity to. Castiel just didn’t know what was coming next.

The boys sat down.

“What do you think I am?” It was hard to keep his voice from shaking, but he spoke lowley and evenly.

“Angel,” Dean shrugged, as if it were obvious. Sam rolled his eyes and continued to eat, “Possibly fallen, or maybe just trying to keep up an act,” That was… new. Castiel had been called multiple things in his life, but never an angel, fallen or otherwise.

 

“Right…” Castiel had known that the man with green eyes and a beautiful smile was strange, but this was completely insane, “And how did you… come to this conclusion?” What was the right thing to say? If Castiel said no, it could trigger some sort of episode, and if he agreed it would encourage delusions.

Dean chuckled, and Castiel hoped he was making some sort of terrible joke, “I didn’t believe in angels ‘till I met you,” Dean shrugged now, and smiled, leaning in towards Castiel, “And I could just tell. You gave all the signs.”

That… was not a real answer. Castiel was about to ask ‘what signs’ but Sam cut in, “I can quote him here,” the young boy grinned, lowering his voice to make a decent impression of his older brother, “‘The moment I saw him, there was light in my life,’ and there were other things but…” He shrugged.

Dean’s cheeks were red, his face hot, “It’s more than that. Something has put your face in my head. I can’t stop thinking about you, Cas. And I’ve warded my mind against pretty much all the demon varieties, so it’s gotta be something heavenly, something good, y’know?”

“And how do you know such things even exist?” The question was meant for Castiel to get a better scope. Of this man, of his mind, of this situation.

“We’re hunters, born and bred,” Dean grinned, appearing almost proud. When would the man start making sense?

“So you mean, birds, de-”

“I’m going to fill Cas in, okay?” Sam interrupted the question, “He’ll be able to help,” Sam stood, grabbed Castiel’s arm with an unexpected strength, and pulled them both back to Castiel’s bedroom.

Sam shut the door, waited for a second, and then turned towards Castiel. His voice was a whisper when he spoke, “Don’t ask questions, just make something up,” the boy crossed his arms, leaned back against the door.

“But he’s talking about things that don’t exist. Does he actually know what he’s saying? Is this a joke?” Castiel’s bed was directly behind him, but he did not sit down. He had not been so tense since his childhood.

Sam nodded, “Not a joke, sorry,” Now Castiel sat, “Dean’s a little bit… He’s odd. And when he gets something like this in his head it stays there. You just need to make something up. You’re lucky that he saw you as an ally in the first place. He sees demons and monsters in regular people, and he acts on what he thinks is good. If you say anything about him to anyone, they’re going to die, and that’ll be on your hands. You’ve walked into this, you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but you are going to see things you’ll never forget. You’re going to see people hurt, you’re going to see people killed, and you are going to see Dean being hurt and hurting others. As long as you participate, you can keep other innocents out of this. Okay?”

This child, tiny underneath layers of coats and hardly reaching Castiel’s shoulder, was terrifying. He nodded dumbly, forgetting how to speak for a second.

“Cool,” Sam smiled, all the power and wrath from a second ago melted away, leaving a small, cheerful boy in its place. Layers. Castiel had to remember that people had layers, “So we’ve got to set your story straight,”

Castiel said nothing.

“What are you?”

Dean had called him- “An angel?”

“Where do you come from?”

This was seeming more and more like an interrogation, but Castiel had no choice, “Heaven?”

“Right! So who do you serve in heaven?”

“God?” Castiel was terrible at lying.

“Okay, so you’re an angel of the lord, is that right?” Sam asked. Castiel nodded, “Why are you on Earth?”

“God sent me?”

“You talk to God?”

“Sure?”

“No, you don’t. Only the Metatron talks to God,”

“Of course. The Metatron sent me.”

“Why?”

“I have a mission…”

“And that mission is…?”

“Well…” There was a reason Castiel had never been a writer. He could appreciate stories, but making them up was much different… “So one day, in heaven, where I’m from… God seemed really upset. There were thunderbolts and everything… And then… My friend Jesus came by. And he was like S’up Cas, you really gotta do me a favour here. I haven’t had chocolate in like a millenia, go to the Meta… Metathing for more info. So then, Metathing told me to drive busses and -”

Sam held up a hand. He was laughing. “Nope. Just stop. Please,”

Castiel said nothing.

“You fell from grace,” Sam declared.

“Why?”

“Because… you care too much about humans. Against God’s wishes, you answered prayers to heal the sick and save the sinners,”

“I was too high profile,” Castiel confirmed. He was beginning to get this. “They had to take away my powers, otherwise they were scared of me growing rogue. Like Lucifer,”

“What high-profile things did you do?”

“I sent my wrath to those who preach hate, cut out the tongue of a homophobic preacher once. Humanity is amazing, but it is weighed down by few individuals. I showed that to the world,”

“Good. And you can be honest about most of the other personality details,” Sam smiled, “Now there’s a demon-possessed old woman on Twenty-Third Street and you’re coming with us,”

Sam opened the door, walked out, and left Castiel little choice but to follow.

Dean was still sitting at the table, playing some game on his phone. He looked up the moment Castiel and Sam entered the room, offering a grin.

“Alright boys, let’s go hunting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: The woman bakes cookies for her granddaughters. Castiel has to kill her.


	5. Murderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old woman accepts them into her home 
> 
> Castiel tries his hand at acting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> graphic violence
> 
> This one gets really intense. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Enjoy :)

It was around noon when the rain came back. The grey sky had been flooding for days, clouds slowly leaking into the bowl that made up the atmosphere. It had held for a long time, weeks, possibly, until it had just reached the lip. Now small, cold droplets journeyed to a larger, colder Earth, clashing with anthills, dry dirt, and the three young men walking the alleys.  
  
Two of them were brothers. Neither of them seemed to mind the rain, if they even noticed. They walked silently, eyes forward, faces set, resolve in every inch of their body. The third member of their party did not share their confidence, nor their resolution. His fingers trembled, his body was tense, and his eyes darted anxiously in a stone-hard face. He did not seem to mind the rain either.  
  
Although the rain did not bother them, their entrance through the doors of the old Bycliff apartment complex changed the air about them. Dean, rolled his shoulder back, cracked his neck, and let loose a grin. Sam looked towards his older brother but was far more cautious. For both of them, this was routine, but Sam was more disposed towards watching for dangers. During the walk, Castiel had grown stiffer and more tense, but he had no choice. He continued the trek.  
  
The front desk sat abandoned, the elevators barred by emergency tape. The lobby wall was dotted with Graffiti and dents. The floor was dirty and, when they stepped into the stairwell it smelled of piss and sex. It was like most apartments in their city.  
Castiel did not voice his curiosity as to how Dean knew this person lived in Apartment 321A. Or how he knew that the spare key was hidden on the top of the doorframe. All of Dean’s movements were calculated, he knew his surroundings from top to bottom, no matter where he was. Castiel wondered how much time Dean had spent watching this person. Castiel wondered how much time Dean had spent watching him.  
  
The door squeaked as it opened, and the woman, old, squat, and bustling in bright colors stopped.  
  
“Oh dear,” Her voice seemed befitting of a grandmother, “Has the lock broken again? Thank you boys for letting me know,” She smiled, ushered them in. Castiel wanted to scream, “You just sit here and I’ll find you some nice tea and biscuits.”  
  
The apartment was tiny. Nicer than Castiel’s but mostly because it was clean. The chairs were soft, the table large, and the space well-used. Photographs showed the woman’s wrinkled face smiling, next to an elderly man, above a woman who looked like a much younger version of herself. The place smelled of freshly baked cookies, and cigarette smoke. This woman was clearly a native city-dweller, Castiel could think of no reason such a kind-faced woman would be living alone in a place like this.  
  
“Can you boys help with the door?” She asked, making four places at her table. Children’s faces smiled at them from picture frames in the kitchen, “Safety is important after all, and my daughter has threatened to send me into an old folk’s home if I don’t take proper care of myself,” The woman chuckled.  
  
Sam closed the door. Dean pulled out a gun. Castiel fought the urge to scream. The woman stumbled backwards.  
  
“Cut the crap, lady,” That snarl… Castiel had to look back up. The man who had been so kind to him was grimacing now, holding a gun with safety off towards the head of a shocked senior woman, “We know what you are, you’re not tricking anybody with the kind old lady act,”  
  
He gestured towards a plush chair, and the woman, eyes wide, body tense, shuffled to it, tea tray shaking, pulled tightly into her chest. Although mugs had fallen over, and those beautifully scented cookies were soggy and ruined, she held the tray with white fingers. As if she were afraid of letting go. Dean’s message was clear, ‘ _comply or die’_.  
  
“I-I don’t have anything-” She pleaded, eyes frantically darting around the room, “But take whatever you want! Please! I have- I have old jewelry, antiques, from my mother! And- I have a bit of money! I’ll give you the code to my safe-anything! Just please don’t kill me!” So old, so frail. She had not done anything wrong, and she must have been running out of time already.  
Castiel could not. He could not participate in this, he could not watch this, and he could not let it happen. His heart must have been beating as fast as hers, his panic as great, if not greater.  
  
Castiel had not felt this since he was a kid. Fight or flight and dangerous, urging adrenaline rushes were hardly strangers. The world would slow when his mind sped, and he would usually chose the second option and run. He didn’t have that choice anymore. He needed to stand up, he needed to think, to fix this, to find a strategy, to _dosomethingfindtime!_  
  
“Dean,” Castiel had spoken a single word, drawn out, long, deep, but slow, confident. He could stall… If he could find anything to follow up with.  
  
“Cas,” Dean nodded, jaw tight, eyes hard and sparkling with some unknown intensity. A loaded and ready gun in the room should have made this the worst time possible, but if Dean wasn’t awe inspiring like that; lit by fluorescent bulbs, standing large, passionate, and painfully mortal. It was worst time possible. Castiel, disgusted with himself, forced the feeling away, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine.  
  
“You don’t know how to exorcise demons from their vessels,” Dean turned his head, eyes leaving the old woman for the first time.  
  
“I don’t know latin,” Right. Because the psalms and the scriptures were all originally latin. That was the holy language, the pure one, the one that God, supposedly, wrote in for the christians. Castiel had taken the language for a semester once, in his freshman year.  
  
“All of heaven’s servants are fluent in human languages,” What was he even saying? Castiel’s mind could not keep up with his mouth. He didn’t know latin, he did not remember how to form a sentence or stitch pronouns with verbs. It would be amazing if he could remember even a few words, “Obviously I know exorcism chants.”  
  
Castiel turned away from the woman, towards Dean and Sam, “I’ll teach you both. You need to draw a large devil’s trap somewhere on the floor. I assume you know how,” And then Castiel turned again, faced the old woman, and waited until he heard the brothers walk into another room.  
  
She was terrified. Castiel smiled gently, he knew fear, he had practice in it, although he had always sat on the other side of the threat.  
  
“You’re going to be okay…” Castiel whispered, glancing over his shoulder to ensure neither brother was listening in, “I won’t let them hurt you, you just need to listen to me and do exactly as I say. Understand?”  
  
She nodded. Still shaking, still afraid, but hopeful, at least a little bit reassured. Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping she found the gesture reassuring.  
  
“Dean! You can’t use whipped cream to draw a trap!” Sam’s voice, from behind at least one door.  
  
“It’s not like the lady has anything else!” Dean’s. And Castiel thought that, fortunately, they would take a little while to come back.  
  
“What’s your name?” He asked. It felt no different than comforting his young peers so many years ago.  
  
“Madge Cullen,” Castiel nodded.  
  
“Alright Madge, I’m Castiel,” She nodded acknowledgement, he did not expect her to say anything, “I’m not going to hurt you and I’m going to make sure that they don’t either,” He could not break a promise. Especially not now.  
  
“Those boys; they’re confused. They think that you’re being possessed by a demon, so they’re really just trying to help you, okay?” A nod. She did not look convinced, “I’m going to say a bunch of random words, alright? Just complete gibberish, and when I pause I want you to shake and pretend there’s a creature crawling out of your mouth,”  
  
Already, the woman was pretending to gag, and she wasn’t a terrible actor. Castiel smiled, raising a hand to stop her. They both tried to ignore her flinch, “Only when I stop speaking. Then I’m going to do it a second time, and I want you to play dead when i finish, or, like you passed out.”  
  
He heard heavy footsteps from another room, unmistakably Dean and his brother on their way back. Castiel took the tea tray and set it on the table, “Act like you remember nothing, and never tell anybody about this,” She nodded, whispered a thank you, and they were no longer alone in the room.  
  
“It’s in sharpie,” Dean announced, “In her study. Bring her,”  
  
Castiel hefted the woman up, with a short whisper explaining that she could not leave the circle.  
  
She threw herself down harder than Castiel pushed her, effectively tripping over her own feet and landing, bottom down, in the middle of the pentagram. Castiel had to give her props for performance. The glare she shot at him felt more than real.  
“What do you need us to do?” Sam asked, he and Dean standing in front of the door as if to guard their prisoner.  
  
“Nothing!” Dean’s expression suggested that Castiel may have answered too early, or possibly too enthusiastically, “Just watch. I’ll teach you later,” When the brothers nodded, Castiel allowed himself to release the breath he had not realized he was holding.  
He turned his body fully towards Madge, tried not to offer a comforting smile, outstretched his right hand, and tried to remember latin. A woman’s life relied on Castiel’s acting. And he had gotten a D in drama.  
  
They were so screwed.  
  
“Salve,” the class had always started on introductions, “mihi nomen est… Dues.” Mulier Antony from ninth grade would have been so disappointed. He could not stop speaking, although he was struggling to remember more words, “Canis hiems maritus et uxor,” He desperately searched for inspiration around the room, he must have remembered some of this. “Locus” room, “Sella, fenestram, mensa, hibernica” _chair, window, table, carpet_. This was difficult as hell. And he needed to find a whole lot more, “Relinquo. Vale.” He finished and Madge did exactly as he had told her to.  
  
She arched her back, shaking, convulsing, even growling quietly. After a few seconds, she threw her head back and roared, effectively acting hard enough for the both of them.  
  
The second group of words were easier to find. He listed off colors and articles of clothing, all the while praying to a God he did not truly believe in that neither Sam nor Dean understood any latin. The entire time he spoke, Madge twitched on the ground, until, finally, he screamed the word “chlamydem”, meaning scarf, and she collapsed.  
  
Altogether, the experiment had gone much better than Castiel thought it would have.  
  
As the adrenaline rush faded, Castiel finally turned to the door, examining the brother’s reactions. They had just gotten through the most vital act, but the epilogue could make or break the play.  
  
While Sam was frowning between Castiel and his brother curiously, waiting to gage a reaction, Dean looked entirely perplexed.  
“So that’s it then?” The man asked. Sam’s wrinkled eyebrows released and gave way to resigned acceptance. The boy shook his head at Castiel, mouthing an apology.  
  
A voice in the darker part of Castiel’s mind whispered that this man will only be satisfied once he has spilled blood. He could still try.  
  
“That is all,” Castiel affirmed, attempting to keep his eyes from going wide and desperate, “I have exercised her and condemned that demon to hell. There is no way the creature is powerful enough to recover alone,” Immediately, he cursed himself. If his earlier conversation with Sam had taught him anything, it was to avoid ranting. Avoid unnecessary details.  
  
“Okay…” Dean seemed to buy it anyways, and Castiel managed to usher the boys out of the study, closing the door behind them. They stood in silence for a few pregnant moments.  
  
“Shall we… umm… Shall we go then?” Castiel asked. Again he cursed himself. He should have been more demanding, more confident.  
  
“In a moment,” Dean answered, examining the visible apartment from his standpoint, “I need to look through this place first,” He said, “I need to see if there are any connections we don’t know about yet, so we can clean up a little bit more.” Castiel nodded, as Sam smiled. They may have made it out of this mess after all.  
  
And then Dean fucked it all up. “I’m looking through her contacts,” The young man announced, hand resting on the doorknob to the study.  
  
The door creaked open. Castiel heard himself shouting. He heard the woman scream. He heard the gunshot. He heard her screams turn into sobs and broken gasps.  
  
Dean ushered his brother out of the apartment, then grabbed Castiel, trying to lift him up. Castiel did not remember falling to his hands and knees. There was blood everywhere. The woman was crying.  
  
“We have to go now!” Dean’s voice was harsh, urgent. Castiel was shaking. “Somebody must have heard that gunshot! There’s only so much time a locked door can buy us,”  
  
“N-No!” Castiel pulled away from Dean’s hands, “I have to-I have to…” Save her? Put her out of her misery? “Pray. I have to pray before we leave! Give me space!” Dean’s eyebrows shot up, but he complied, spearing one last glance before making his escape through a window.  
  
Castiel ran into the study, planting himself firmly next to the woman, trying not to cry.  
  
“You… you promised…” Her aged voice was unsteady, full of obvious pain. Dark blood was seeping through a light blue blouse, creating some disturbingly beautiful dark plum shade of purple.  
  
“I’m sorry…” Castiel answered, and if his eyes watered a little, nobody saw it. The woman’s blue eyes stared straight up, unseeing through a veil of pain, “I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
She was going to die. Castiel could do nothing to change that. He stood, quickly scanning the desktop until he found some sort of award - made out of glass. He took the trophy in both hands, throwing it down with as much force as he could muster. The thing shattered.  
  
Castiel found the largest, sharpest piece he could. He went back to the woman, sitting by her side. Her breathing had become ragged. She was in so much pain.  
  
One of his hands found one of hers, squeezing tightly despite the slick blood now coating both of their fingers. With his other hand he brought the ragged glass to her soft, wrinkled neck.  
  
With one sharp movement, her gasping turned into gurgles. Crimson poured over Castiel’s hands. Crimson poured over Castiel’s vision.  
  
A grown man. A bus driver, a volunteer. An oathbreaker, a murderer sat in the middle of a plushly carpeted peach colored room with the woman he had just killed. He sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to be completely honest, I've sort of had a falling out with this fandom. That being said, I do not intend to drop this fic. I'm actually quite proud of it, and i intend to finish what i started here. 
> 
> I'm going to be wrapping this up as soon as i can, but I sort of forgot what's supposed to happen, which means I gotta come up with plot points all over again, which may add on to the time it takes. Either that or you'll get filler chapters that make this into too much of a soap opera. Comments and bookmarks make my life


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